


After All These Long Years

by WaywardDesertKnight



Series: Coming Home to You [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Post-Second Age, Quenya Names Used, References to past trauma, mild nudity, re-embodiment, references to canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4415471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardDesertKnight/pseuds/WaywardDesertKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elves often come to the Gardens to collect their loved ones. For one lone traveler it has been an Age gone by, and an Age gone too soon. To watch the one you love fall so far and hurt everyone, is it worth it to try and start again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	After All These Long Years

Lindëwen dismounted the horse and let her wander into a nearby field to graze. She guessed the rest of the family, if there were any left, would likely arrive soon after. As it stood though, this was something the writer needed to do herself. Given everything that had happened, and that in turn had happened so long ago, that a chance to start over sounded nice. Her parents had been sympathetic, even if they hadn't quite forgiven her husband for his actions. But the long centuries since her son's death had at last taken their toll.

It hadn't surprised her to learn that the sons of Fëanáro had been withheld in the Halls as punishment. In fact it had come as more a surprise when she had been granted a chance to plead her case to get her family back. The Master of the Halls had heard her plea and declared she could take her husband with her, on the condition that he foreswear arms and armor, and that he would be brought before the Valar for due punishment if he ever rode to conflict again. The deal sounded fair, and she had agreed, after all, in the Blessed Realm, who again would ride into battle, sheltered as they were from the ilk of Morgoth?

One thought still lingered in the back of her mind, when she had asked about her son, Námo had fallen silent and refused to speak. When she pressed him further, the Vala merely stated that it was not time for him. Having rebelled against the Valar once, she had little desire to do so again, especially given the cost to her family. Thus she had accepted his judgement, and now found herself at the gates to the Gardens of Irmo. Normally access to the Garden was strictly forbidden to the waking world, but this part was where those whose fëar had returned from the Halls again became cloaked in hroa. A Maia stood just outside them with a grey cloak.

"Put this on," though the being's lips did not move, they spoke, tone hushed. "Do not speak once we cross." Traveling cloak swapped for the grey one, Lindëwen fell silent as she followed the Maia inside. Curiosity piqued her interest as they walked, across a small, silver stream, she found two Maiar at work, constructing another body. They passed another glen, and she thought she caught a glimpse of Estë, passing silent instruction for a third new body.

At last the Maia came to a stop before a willow tree, brushing aside the long strands of leaves, the dappled shadows danced along the forest floor in the afternoon sun. They bowed their head as she passed into the shade of the tree. The green-gold light that filtered down danced across his skin, paler than she remembered, untouched by either Tree or sun. His hands lacked the calluses of his life's work, and his nose no longer held the same crook where it had broken. His face, oh Valar his face, younger and freed from the lines of worry that had etched into them ever since that dreadful time. She bit her lip to stifle a chuckle as she reached out for his scalp, bare but for the faintest prickle of fuzz, much like his eyebrows, and, she blushed, his groin.

Slow and quiet, Lindëwen slid across the grass and lifted his head into her lap. Her fingers ran down his cheek to his throat, watching as his chest started to rise and fall. The faint whisper of breath caressed her fingers as they ran over his lips. As his eyes fluttered open, she smiled, the same Tree-lit blue as they had always been. His gaze settled onto hers, and she felt his throat constrict, lips parted to speak. Her free hand rose and pressed a finger to her lips, he quirked one faint eyebrow but fell silent. One hand rose, which he inspected, before it curled into her hair and pulled her into a kiss.

When she drew back, she saw that tears had formed in his eyes, a thousand unasked questions flitted about his mind. She reassured him that all would be answered in good time, brushing the streaks of salty water from his face with her lips. The questions faded into apologies, as a silent sob wracked him. His new body refused to obey much beyond what he had already accomplished, his limbs weak.

Lindëwen held him, sending waves of comfort to him as she did so, there would be time for the long talk they desperately needed, but it could wait. For right now, she held him. The sun had long since sunk when his tears subsided, as if on cue the Maia who had guided her in returned, they had a bundle of grey clothes in hand. Her husband glanced up, nodded, and slowly dressed. When he had finished, the Maia led them back out. The writer noted that the other elf that she had passed, had left, while the Maiar that Estë had been with had started to make a new body. The gates opened and the Maia stepped out with them across the threshold, "welcome back to the land of the living."

Her husband nodded, "thank you." His voice rasped.

"Thank you," she bowed to the Maia as they handed back her cloak.

They nodded as she returned the grey one and disappeared through the gates, the rods folding shut behind them.

Silence filled the air between them, that was until he broke it, "Lindëwen."

"Curufinwë." What else could she say? Too much time had passed, too many horrors.

"I... Lindëwen, I am so sorry." He fell to his knees, weeping anew. "I had no intention of leaving you. I realize that everything I did... every grievance I caused... I... you." The words died in his throat, his fists slammed the ground before he curled in on himself.

She waited, patient, listening, kneeling before him.

The screams and wails faded as he at last looked up at her, though his eyes remained on the ground. "I won't ask your forgiveness. I hurt you. I hurt our son. I hurt our family. I am sorry, with everything that I am I am sorry." He closed his eyes as she touched his cheek.

Her fingers traced the line of tears. "It has been over five thousand years since we last saw each other. What is a fresh wound to you has faded for me. We cannot go back to what we were. But we can start again, and be better."

"Has it really been that long?" His wondering tone blended with a sense of shocked horror.

"Yes, yes it has." Her smile grew sad, "too long, my heart."

His eyes at last met hers, "I will do this right. I swear. I thank you for this second chance."

As her smile turned to one of hope, Lindëwen leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I know."

When they broke apart, Curufinwë's eyes flicked around the clearing, "where's Neuro? I should go apologize to him... wouldn't blame him if he never wanted to see me again though." At that, she turned pale, a distant, hollow look, "Lindë, Lindë, look at me," his hands cupped her cheek, strange for the smooth, soft skin, "Lauriel," he dared the name he had given her at their union, "look at me. Where is our son?"

"You should know, you have the right to know."

As her voice cracked, Curufinwë voiced his fear, "he's dead, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"How? When?"

She shook her head, in some ways the grief of that wound was still too new. She had heard the reports from the ships that returned, of the ongoing war against the servant of Morgoth. "Let's at least get away from the gates first."

He nodded and followed Lindëwen to the campsite a short ways off, her horse idly grazing. She set the campfire and on instinct he started to cook. They sat apart from each other, at least until she crossed the short distance to sit beside the smith. "I suppose... the easiest place to start is after you died. Nelyo sent us a message saying you had. Nargothrond had fallen long before that, and we had moved into Sirion. Tyelpe found good work there, and he started to seem happy again. That was until Nelyo ordered another attack on the city... He was so desperate... even as Ambarussa died, right outside our house."

"Lindë..."

"Tyelpe was furious, and I suppose that was where it began, the obsession in his heart with escaping the curse and the darkness. We both served in the War of Wrath, I worked supply and communications, while he took on a key position designing the tools of several units, including the Eagles' flight suits, as well as the ballistas used by both their division and the Wrath of Ulmo division. When the War ended, the Valar sank Beleriand in the sea." She gestured away to the East, "homeless, divided, and disillusioned, the Noldor divided. Some went with Artanáro, Artaresto's son, now High King, while others followed Tyelpe. Our son founded the city of Eregion, and he threw himself into his work, into ways of fighting the darkness and helping the world. Some time after a Maia named Annatar arrived in the city, and he began to meet with Tyelpe. They made rings of great power, but it was a trap, for this Maia was a servant of Morgoth, and he used our son to make rings to control all life." Her voice shook, eyes fixed in the fire, "he got me out of the city... said he would hold them as long as he could..." Tears welled in her eyes, "the next time I saw him... that foul spawn of the Void had turned what was left of his body into a banner, with his head on a spike."

Curufinwë's hands clapped over his mouth as bile rose in his throat. He stumbled towards the brush and heaved, the thought alone enough to make him ill. He could scarce imagine what she had gone through, seeing that in person. Once he had rinsed his mouth out, the smith settled beside her again, limbs still far too watery to support him much. "I-I see... what happened after?"

"After? I think I understood the madness that overtook your father near the end, the twisted, burning desire to see the one who wronged someone you love in complete, utter ruination." He paled at the bitter laugh she let out. "I learned just how hard it is to use a sword. It was an impressive allegiance, even the Sindar and the Avari joined us, as did the Edain and the Dwarves."

His eyes widened, both terrified and impressed. "I see... were you injured?"

"Of course I was," Lindëwen hefted her riding skirts to reveal a series of claw marks along one leg. A moment later she unbuttoned her top, a long line from a sword ran along her shoulder. "I got off lucky though, Artanáro gave his life to defeat the enemy."

At that Curufinwë ran a hesitant hand over the scar, "how did you come back here?"

"I didn't die," she answered his real question, "after the war I sailed, for the Valar had opened the way back to Aman for us. You remember Lord Círdan of the Teleri?"

"Yes," he pondered, "I believe I do."

"He and his brother build the ships that carry us home. I spent some time with him before I departed. When I returned, I spent some time with my parents, and even talked with your mother on several occasions."

"How is Ma- er Mother?"

"Good, she has Ambarussa, both of them, to keep her company," she smiled.

He sighed, "that- that is a good thing. And of the others...?"

Lindëwen shook her head. "You're the only other they've released, and only under very strict terms. You're all but banned from making arms and armor."

"I see... I don't... after everything I've done, I don't have much of a choice." She sighed, wondering if he knew or even accepted that he was in the wrong. "I don't agree with the Valar, and I honestly doubt I ever will again. But I hurt you, I hurt our son, no amount of passive apologies will make amends. So I will make it better. I swear."

That sounded like the elf she had first fallen in love with under the light of the Trees. Never one to sit by, never a passive spirit, he always had to be doing something. She noticed his fingers fidget as he spoke, and decided there would be no harm in returning a few of his possessions now. From her pocket she withdrew a small ring with movable parts and slipped it onto his right ring finger, at once the fingers of his other hand flew to it, twisting the inner ring back and forth. The tension left his shoulders as the ring spun, only stopping when she passed him a small set of interlocked ring puzzles, and a small toolkit with some unfinished jewelry.

"You kept these?" He marveled.

Lindëwen nodded, "I didn't have the heart to get rid of them, even after you left."

He brushed the half finished copper rings, and his far more illicit ear cuffs, they had been intended for himself, as a surprise for his wife. She raised an eyebrow at them, "were those for me? Or for you?"

"I-I had intended them for me," Curufinwë confessed, "as part of a larger ensemble for our anniversary."

"I had forgotten that incident fell during... that time." A sudden thought occurred to the writer, "if the incident with your grandfather had not transpired, what would you have asked?"

"I-I wanted to ask if you wished for a second child, a daughter maybe, though any child would be welcome."

"I think I would like a daughter, at some point. But first," she withdrew a thin chain from under her shirt, unclasping a silver ring, carefully engraved with a promise, and handed it to him. The ring was smaller than any he could wear, but the meaning was clear enough to the smith. "Let's focus on us."

"I understand." He clutched the ring to his chest, "Lindë, why did you ask for me? Why not our son?"

"I asked for both of you... when I pressed about Tyelpe, the Lord of the Halls would not say, only that the time had not come."

"Ah..." His faded memories of the Halls of Mandos offered little help as to whether or not he had seen his son in them. "That... given what you said, that is distressing. Did he give any indication whether that time would be soon?"

Lindëwen shook her head, "no, but there was a look in his eyes... a look of intense pity, and a sense that the pain would not be healed by time alone."

On instinct, the smith reached out for her hand, "he's our son, he's our, our Tyelperinquar. And when the time comes, we'll come here again, together."

She squeezed his hand and smiled, "thank you, my darling Angatano."

He smiled, the first he had managed since he had awoken, and they gazed at one another, with all the hesitance of the lovestruck youths they had once been, leaned in for a kiss. The light of Telperion had been replaced with the light of the moon, the hardships both had endured melted away for that moment. A simple smith and an eager page, a prince and a writer, a pair that all had decreed that Ilúvatar himself had made. As they drew back, Lindëwen saw the awkward, boyish charm that had drawn her to him, and while she acknowledged that they could never go back to what they were, what they could be might be even better.

 


End file.
